A Touch of Romance
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“I’ll be back in a few minutes,” Morgan said, turning toward the door. He didn’t want to leave his daughter alone with her grandfather and uncle for too long. The last thing he needed was some nosy old codger asking her about the man she’d met. “I’m going out on another ride.”
Ruthie’s hand shot up as if she were a student eager to answer. “Please stay home tonight.” Her voice sounded weak and uncertain but still strong enough for her father to hear it. She didn’t need to worry. He’d never abandon his family or put them in danger. But her words gave him an idea.
He smiled at her. “All right, I’ll stay home this one night, but only if you promise that tomorrow morning before school starts you will go over to the saloon and introduce yourself to Mr. Brownstone.”
Ruthie nodded reluctantly, then turned to her grandfather. “You promised me we’d go fishing tomorrow!”
Mr. Brownstone laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant laugh, and he looked much older than Ruthie thought possible given how young his granddaughter looked. “It’s too late now,” he said as he started toward the door.
Morgan took Ruthie by her elbow and pulled her after her grandfather.
“Come along, Miss Ruthie,” Mr. Brownstone said. “Your uncle and I have things to discuss.” He walked into the foyer, not bothering to close the front door behind him.
When they reached the living room, Ruthie ran over to the mantelpiece and stared down at the photograph of her mother. She touched its surface as if she could bring her mother back just by touching the picture again. “Did you know my mom?” she asked softly.
“I did.” Her grandfather answered in a gruff tone. He didn’t take his eyes off the picture as he spoke.
Ruthie didn’t move away from the mantel as her grandfather continued speaking. “But don’t let that bother you,” he added, “because she loved your uncle more than anything else in this world. More than even she loved you.”
He turned and handed her a framed photo of himself taken around the same time as Ruthie’s mother had been photographed. Both men wore matching white suits and looked like brothers. They also both sported matching smiles. A smile that seemed somehow forced and insincere.
The picture showed two handsome, rugged men with dark hair and deep, penetrating eyes who would have made any woman fall madly in love with them. Not that Ruthie saw her father that way. She remembered the day he came into their house wearing a black hat and a dark suit, his clothes stained with red blood, and his shoes covered in dust.
And how she couldn’t stop staring at him as if something bad might happen. As if he might hurt her or steal all the things that mattered most to her. But he hadn’t. He never once broke his word—not even when there was no one left to witness the act. His word was worth gold, and he wouldn’t break it unless it was absolutely necessary.
He leaned against the mantel and studied his daughter. He appeared tired and drawn but otherwise healthy enough. “You’re getting too old to play in the barn,” he said, taking her arm and pulling her closer to him. Then he pointed toward the front door.
“Now you better get used to going into town with your mother’s friends and acquaintances.” He paused before adding, “Because that is what life here will be like.”
He released her arm and stepped away from the mantel. Ruthie watched him for a moment, trying to figure out why he was so distant. Why he refused to show her any affection or tell her a single nice thing. When he finally looked at her, his expression told her nothing. So she turned to the window, wanting to escape the heavy feeling in the air.
It was obvious that the reason she felt this way was that she’d been raised to hate the very place where she lived. And if she wanted to be happy, she would need to change her attitude quickly or learn to live with this terrible, suffocating atmosphere. “Why do we always have to live here? Why can’t we ever go anywhere else?”
Her question caught Mr. Brownstone by surprise and brought a quick frown to his face. “That’s enough questions for today,” he snapped as if he knew exactly how dangerous they were.
She looked up at him in confusion. She’d never heard her father speak to anyone else that way, except perhaps when he was angry. She looked toward the kitchen where Ruthie’s mother was working on dinner. “Why can’t we leave?”
Mr. Brownstone sighed, then slowly turned to face her. “If we were to try to live somewhere else, there would be no one to protect you.”
Ruthie swallowed hard and stared at him without saying anything.
“Don’t look at me like that!” he exclaimed, waving his hand in front of him as if to ward away something.
His sudden outburst startled her; it wasn’t something her father would have done. “I’m sorry—” Ruthie began, but he didn’t wait long enough to hear what else she had to say before walking over to the piano and plucking out a quick jazzy tune on the ivory keys.
When his mother entered the room, he turned to her with an exaggerated bow. “Mother.” He turned back toward Ruthie and smiled. “You remember Ruthie, don’t you?”
A few seconds later, Ruthie went outside and climbed onto the haystack beside the barn, looking for a place to hide. The sky looked threatening, promising rain and thunderstorms. The clouds gathered together in a menacing shape that resembled a giant’s shadow.
As soon as she reached the top, Ruthie sat down and pulled her knees up, hugging them tightly against her body. She closed her eyes as a wave of fear swept through her mind, bringing visions of her father standing behind her in the shadows. His presence still lingered inside the barn even though he wasn’t actually there.
Ruthie opened her eyes and stared at the clouds again. She tried to imagine what it might be like not having her father’s presence in her life anymore. She wondered what it would feel like to live in a house without him, where people didn’t treat her like the enemy. How strange it must be to live in a place where no one cared about anyone else.
How lonely.
She thought about the time after her father was murdered. When he died, she had no idea what to do with herself. Her mother was too distraught to pay much attention to Ruthie. In fact, she did little more than sit around the house day after day, moping and crying, until she became so despondent that it took all the strength left in Ruthie to keep her alive.
Then one morning when Ruthie was six years old, her mother decided to get up and cook breakfast. But when she returned from the stove with a bowl full of batter, she stopped in midstride and stared down at it. “Oh no,” she murmured, turning around slowly. “What have I done?”
Then she rushed over to Ruthie. “You’ve ruined my recipe.” She shook her head sadly. “It’s not supposed to be runny like that. I forgot to add the salt.”
The next day, Ruthie awoke early. The sun was just rising over the horizon when she heard her mother call from her bedroom upstairs that Ruthie should hurry and get ready for school. She jumped into her clothes and ran downstairs only to find her mother gone, along with every other trace of her existence.
In the end, Ruthie’s aunt had taken her in, but it wasn’t easy living with such a cold woman. It seemed as if Aunt Louise always expected Ruthie to act a certain way, and she hated every minute she spent in her presence. At the same time, Ruthie had been grateful to have someone to talk to, even if she didn’t understand her feelings about everything.
Now her aunt had passed on. She’d lived alone in a small, isolated home for many years. Her death had been quite peaceful. There hadn’t been any pain or suffering. Ruthie found this comforting since she couldn’t remember ever being touched by kindness before.
After Aunt Louise died, Ruthie came back to visit her family, but now she felt guilty because she knew they wouldn’t take her in again. If they saw how much she’d changed since she first moved here, they probably would never forgive her for abandoning them when their father died.
But she couldn’t live with her aunt’s ghost hanging over her. She also needed to know how Mr. Brownstone was going to dispose of her mother, and why he wanted her to marry the man who killed her husband. She could only assume he was trying to use them both against each other.
Ruthie waited a while longer for Mr. Brownstone to return from his trip. He was supposed to come back tomorrow night, but she had the feeling he would show up sooner. The storm clouds were getting thicker and darker overhead. It appeared that God had sent a warning message to Mr. Brownstone to leave town immediately or risk losing his life.
“Where are you, Mr. Brownstone?” she muttered, staring up at the darkening sky.
***
When Ruthie went into her room, she noticed several letters on her bedside table. One looked familiar; it belonged to a friend back in Chicago who kept asking her to write him. Ruthie hadn’t written him in a long time, but she had promised to do so. After reading the letter, she tore it into pieces and threw it out.
Another envelope contained a note that was from another man. This one was more personal, almost affectionate. It reminded her of the times she shared with her father, but now she tossed it aside as well.
She picked up a third letter and read it carefully before opening it. “I hope to see you soon,” was all it said.
This surprised her. Ruthie had been told there were no letters from her mother because Mrs. Brownstone hadn’t learned how to use a pen or typewriter. Instead, she dictated notes and handed them off to someone else. She then wrote out a few words and signed them with an X so she wouldn’t have to put her name on them.
So far, nothing suspicious.
The last letter Ruthie opened was addressed to her father. It had been written months ago, which meant her mother must have known about it beforehand. Ruthie had no idea what was in the letter, but something bothered her about it.
She couldn’t put her finger on exactly what was bothering her until she glanced over at the clock and saw that it was past midnight. “What am I doing?” she whispered to herself.
Why was she wasting precious sleep? It would be best if she just stayed awake tonight and made sure Brownstone was really gone. But she couldn’t stop herself. She was too curious about what she might find. So after tucking the letter away, she lay down on her bed, closed her eyes, and tried to fall asleep. As if it knew her intention, the storm began to pick up speed.
Ruthie’s mind raced as the rain poured down outside, soaking everything it touched. What was Mr. Brownstone’s plan? Was it possible for a dead man to still kill people? Did he want her to marry the murderer or did he simply think she deserved to die for her part in his brother’s murder?
As the night progressed, the thunder rumbled louder and closer, growing nearer with each passing second. Then, without warning, lightning flashed and the house shook under the weight of the violent clap of thunder.
Raindrops pounded the roof and walls, drowning out everything but her own heartbeat. The wind whistled loudly through the chimney, filling the room with a deafening scream. It sounded as if someone was screaming inside her head. A shiver shot up Ruthie’s spine. It had happened again—the same nightmare she’d suffered every night since she was a child.
She was standing at the window staring down at a street that seemed unfamiliar. It wasn’t raining or cold, but there were dark figures moving quickly along the sidewalk. They were walking fast toward the house she was living in with her family.
When they reached the porch, the door slammed open, and two men stepped out. Both wore long coats and hats pulled low over their faces. It was difficult to tell who was behind the black hoods because their heads were bent down, keeping their faces hidden.
Ruthie’s heart beat faster when she heard the footsteps approaching, but it wasn’t the sound of her pounding pulse that startled her. It was the fact that the men were headed straight for her mother, her sisters, and her brothers. Her mother and father stood together holding hands, but the men walked right between them and took them by the arms.
Her father was crying out to his family, but the two men ignored him. Ruthie screamed and ran to grab hold of her mother. But the two men pushed her aside. As if that weren’t enough to frighten the wits out of anyone, one of the men held his hand up, signaling her to stay where she was.
The other one came closer and lifted the hat from his head to reveal an ugly scarred face. His hair was a tangled mess of brown curls that stuck to his forehead like wet weeds in late summer. Ruthie felt faint as she stared at the hideous man who could have been no one else but her father’s murderer.
She wanted to cover her ears and shut her eyes so she wouldn’t have to watch. But there was nothing she could do except stand there while the man approached her. He grabbed her by the shoulders and forced her to look up into his bloodshot eyes.
“You killed my son,” he said, his voice harsh, cold, and deadly. “Now, you’re going to pay.”
He drew back his fist and smashed it across Ruthie’s face. Pain seared through her cheek, and the room started to spin around her. She dropped to the floor, but before she could crawl away, he kicked her in the stomach.
Ruthie curled up on the wooden floor and sobbed as another wave of pain coursed through her body. “No!” she yelled as he kicked her once more. “Stop! Don’t hurt me anymore. I didn’t do anything wrong. Please don’t…don’t…”
Suddenly, something hard struck her on the side of the head and she slumped onto the floor. Her eyes fluttered open but everything was blurry and she could barely see. The only thing that made sense was the smell of fresh pine boughs and the sound of a woman’s soft voice saying, “Please, help her.”
***
After she finished washing dishes at the kitchen sink, Ruthie returned upstairs to get dressed. She opened the closet door and found Mr. Brownstone waiting for her inside. He wore a pair of gray trousers and a blue shirt, which he buttoned all the way up to his neck. He looked as if he meant business.
“Where are we going?” Ruthie asked.
“We’re traveling north,” he replied. “But before we leave, there’s one more thing we need to do.”
His eyes were cold, calculating, and ruthless as he stared at her. “I’m going to take some pictures and write down a few facts about your family.”
“What kind of facts?” she asked, feeling uncomfortable.
“Information that might be useful later. You understand? Your family isn’t safe until this matter is resolved.” He paused briefly, looking her over carefully before continuing, “It shouldn’t take us very long, so please try not to worry. There’ll be plenty of time for you to talk and explain things during the trip. We should reach our destination by morning.”
As soon as he stepped outside the bedroom, Ruthie hurried downstairs and out the front door. She stopped short when she saw the horse waiting patiently by the gate. “Why did you bring a horse?” she asked.
Mr. Brownstone chuckled and patted the reins against the beast’s neck. “Because it’s time to ride,” he answered. “And you know how much I hate to walk.”
“That’s not why I brought the horse,” she replied as she slid onto its back.
He turned away, pretending to be busy adjusting his own gear, but she knew better. This wasn’t going to be a casual trip to the country store or a picnic outing for the family. They had no choice but to go because Mr. Brownstone would never let them refuse.
And there’d be nothing either Ruthie or her family could do about it. Not even when they reached their destination. That was unless someone came to their aid.
The trip to town and back was a blur of motion with little time for conversation. Each step felt like a mile as Ruthie tried to think of what to say to her family, but the words wouldn’t come to mind. All she could remember was her father’s pleading cries as he shouted from the porch to save them.
By nightfall, they reached a small settlement called New Hope where a group of men had gathered to talk around a campfire. Most seemed pleased to see the Brownstones, though others gave them a wide berth and pretended to ignore them.
When they finally arrived at the hotel, the place seemed deserted and eerie in the moonlight. It sat next to a large pond where fish splashed about in the black water, oblivious to the presence of strangers.
Mrs. White greeted them at the door. Her eyes widened upon seeing Ruthie and Mr. Brownstone together, but it wasn’t enough to stop her from inviting them inside.
A fire burned brightly in the parlor fireplace, warming the room. Mrs. White poured hot chocolate into the mugs as she explained, “I thought you might prefer to spend the night here rather than at the boarding house. The other guests are gone for the evening except for a few stragglers. I can have rooms prepared for you, so please feel free to unpack.”
She handed Ruthie a steaming mug of coffee and a plate of brown sugar cookies before adding, “If you need anything, just let me know. I’ll leave you to your work, sir. Good night.”
“Thank you for everything,” Ruthie said.
The old woman smiled, then went out to shut off the lights and lock up. A faint sound of laughter floated from the hallway.
“How many people stay here?” Ruthie asked.
“Not too many these days,” he replied. “Just a handful of ranchers.”
She glanced nervously around the dark, empty lobby and took a sip of coffee before asking, “Do you know who owns this place?”
“No idea. But it doesn’t belong to anyone. It’s simply abandoned.”
Ruthie looked around again as she waited for him to continue, wondering if she should warn her family of the dangers lurking there. “What else does this hotel serve?” she asked.
“Meals, of course, along with bed and board. In fact, I’ve arranged for you to share my suite so we can spend more time alone.”
Ruthie shook her head in disbelief. “Why?” she asked. “Don’t tell me you enjoy sharing a room with another man!”
He shrugged. “Who knows? Perhaps I just like sleeping with you,” he teased. “Maybe I want a closer look at your lovely body while we’re traveling through the wilds.”
Ruthie rolled her eyes as she sipped her coffee. “You’ll have plenty of time to do that on our journey,” she said sarcastically.
His lips curved into a smile as he took her hand. “Now I’m really looking forward to getting started tomorrow morning.” He led her down the hall toward the stairway and added, “It’s almost two o’clock now. You should go upstairs and get some rest.”
“But—”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, and she realized his tone had been mocking. Then he walked away.
“Stop calling me ‘ma’am,'” she muttered after him. “I’m not a schoolmarm.”
When she returned to the main floor, the hallway was dark except for a flickering lamp burning in one of the bedrooms. She paused outside a closed door and listened, hoping to hear voices coming from inside. Nothing stirred.
It wasn’t until she reached the second-floor landing that she saw the faint outline of a person sitting on a wooden bench beneath an arching window. His profile was shadowed by darkness, but she couldn’t mistake his distinctive profile.
Mr. Brownstone leaned against a post with his hands behind his head, watching her with undisguised curiosity. The light from the streetlamp across the road glinted in the lenses of his glasses and made a halo around his hairless scalp. “Come join me,” he invited.
With every nerve tingling, Ruthie stepped past him and stopped at the window. He stood close beside her, but instead of taking her hand or even saying goodnight, he simply turned and left.
Ruthie watched him walk away in stunned silence. Why hadn’t he kissed her like he usually did? She’d been expecting that kind of gesture, but she didn’t understand why he would leave without saying anything. What if someone found her there on the bench staring at him? That wouldn’t be very convincing if she were accused of spying on him and then caught kissing someone else.
She sighed as she hurried back downstairs. When she reached the lobby, she saw Mr. White peering curiously from under his brows.
“Everything all right?” he whispered. “Did something happen?”
“Oh—no,” she answered quickly, then hurried up the stairs.
The End